Classic Poem

If underneath the water
You comb your golden hair
With a golden comb, my daughter,
Oh, would that I were there.
If underneath the wave
You fill a slimy grave,
Would that I, who could not save,
Might share.

FORSS .
If my love Hero queens it
In summer Fairyland,
What would I be
But the ring on her hand?
Her cheek when she leans it
Would lean on me: —
Or sweet, bitter-sweet,
The flower that she wore
When we parted, to meet
On the hither shore
Anymore? nevermore.